


The Old Friends (and Lovers) Job

by littlesilhouetto



Category: Leverage
Genre: Action, Case Fic, Friendship, Multi, Organized Crime, Relationship(s), Team
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 06:59:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlesilhouetto/pseuds/littlesilhouetto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was just another routine job, and everything was going well. Until Becca showed up. But who even is Becca, anyway? And how does Eliot know her? And why is Eliot making out with her?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set somewhere in between 2x07 and 2x08, but ignoring the whole Sophie going off to 'discover herself' thing (so no Tara for the moment, sorry)

The client nods gratefully when Sophie slides the packet of tissues towards her, shaking hands briefly straying from their vicelike grip around her mug of tea to pull one out and dab at the corner of her eye. Nate folds his hands and inclines his head patiently, sympathetically, and gives her a comforting smile. _Get a move on_ , he thinks, _stop crying and tell me your story so I can help you_. He’s lost count how many people he’s seen like this, desperate and helpless with nowhere left to turn for aid. As good as helping them makes him feel, sometimes he can’t help but tire of the sniffles and watery eyes that preclude a job. His client doesn’t notice his annoyance, thank god, but Sophie clears her throat and Nate fights not to wince as he feels the sharp point of her boot connect with his shin.

Finally, the woman looks up and continues her tale. “That painting, it was worth millions. It was all my grandmother had left. That man came in with his big smile and his fake pleasantries and conned her out of a fortune. I want the painting back, and I want him brought to justice.”

\---

“Jason Meadows, 49, art dealer, gallery owner and con artist. He studied Art History at Harvard, and spent 5 years writing an art column for the New York Times. When he realised that many thousands of Americans potentially had priceless works of art in their homes that they thought was just junk, he began to buy these artworks from people for far less than what they were actually worth. Most of the works, he then resells to greedy rich people for their original prices, thereby earning himself a pretty decent profit. Some of the stuff that he really likes, however, he keeps in his own private gallery at 20 Grove Street. Luckily for us, our client’s painting falls into that category.”

“So this is a simple smash and grab?” Parker accompanies the question with a frown, sounding worryingly disappointed. “Boring.”

Nate makes a face. He wishes it were that easy. “Not exactly. You see our client wants Meadows to experience the same things the people he’s conned went through. So we’ve got to make him think he’s onto something great, only to make him realise he’s actually been cheated of a huge profit soon after he closes the deal.”

“How about I break his face instead?” A stunned silence sweeps through the room, and Eliot glares at his team members and buries his nose in his cup of green tea. “What? You don’t con old people, man, you just don’t.”

Hardison raises a hand and blinks owlishly in that way that way that Eliot knows heralds a comment that will annoy him. “Victor Dubenich was kinda old-”

“Defenceless old people, Hardison. You don’t con defenceless-” Eliot gives up with a growl. “Never mind.”

Nate blinks twice, then coughs, deciding to move on before an increasingly irate looking Eliot begins throwing things. “No, what we need is to sell him the score of his life, something so unbelievable and rare that he’ll buy it without question. And then when he’s bought it, we’ll expose him as a fraud to the whole world so that he can never buy another painting and get our client’s grandmother her money back.” With that, he nods decisively and stands.

“Let’s go steal a priceless painting.”

\---

The actual con part of the job is easy enough, with Nate and Sophie playing Will and Marie Glover, clueless middle-class Americans with a priceless Monet (which Sophie ‘found lying around’ in a storage locker she owns) hanging on their living room wall. Meadows blusters in with greedy, eager eyes, and offers them a measly $2000 for the work, which they accept with wide smiles. Nate has to hold Sophie back after the art dealer leaves, amidst her yelling of “That painting’s worth at least four hundred times that, you crook!”

Parker and Hardison play reporters, eager to get the inside scoop on Meadows’ new acquisition. They appear just interested enough for him to schedule a press conference of sorts, but don’t pry so much that he becomes suspicious. Sophie laughs gleefully while listening to them on comms, praising them endlessly for their ‘great character work’. Eliot stays in Nate’s apartment, observing everything with a scowl and occasionally cracking his knuckles and muttering something that sounds suspiciously like ‘break his damn face’. All in all, it’s a nice, easy job, admittedly not their finest or most exciting work but entertaining all the same. They’ve really managed to make an HQ out of Nate’s apartment, and begin to think of the old Leverage Inc. headquarters less and less as each day goes by.

\---

Disaster strikes on the penultimate day. They’re all holed up in Lucille, Sophie having insisted that they stay near to the gallery to watch the painting through the cameras that Hardison could hack in his sleep, in case any thief that’s in the neighbourhood comes looking for it. Nothing happens until about eleven, and even Sophie looks close to admitting that maybe this wasn’t so necessary after all, and Eliot and Hardison start bickering again, before Parker (who had miraculously stayed silent for the whole time) startles them all by speaking.

“Guys, look at the monitor. There’s someone there.”

The other four team members follow her outstretched finger and peer at the surveillance screen. Sure enough, they see the shadowed figure of a woman sneak stealthily through the gallery. Whoever she is, she obviously has experience, as she manages to avoid the cameras almost entirely, staying in their blind spots so that even Hardison has trouble picking her out when he rotates the cameras. He’s about to press the button to activate the alarms and summon the guards as the mysterious figure nears the last exhibition hall where the Monet is held, when Parker puts a hand out to stop him.

“This room has a laser grid, remember? A laser grid that’s almost impossible to get across. So she avoided the cameras. So what? I could do that blindfolded with my hand tied behind my back. There’s no way she’s getting across that grid.”

With a shrug, Hardison withdraws his hand and the team watches with bated breath to see what this thief will do next. She pauses, draws herself up to her full height, rolls her neck, and kicks up into a perfect handstand, before making her way through the laser grid, motions fluid and rivalling Parker for athletic ability. As the mystery thief reaches the end of the grid and the display case of the Monet, the blonde in question scoffs and flaps a nonchalant hand.

“Please, that’s easy. Anyone could do that.”

Sophie hides a smile and turns to Hardison. “Turn on that alarm. I won’t have this stranger mess up our con and take my Monet.”

The hacker nods and taps a few keys on his keyboard. Instantly, the alarms kick into life, wailing loudly. The woman in the gallery tenses up and spins around, running back the way she came. She’s cut off, however, by at least half a dozen guards that appear from all directions, ready to apprehend the intruder. They encircle the mystery thief in seconds, and again the Leverage crew watch hesitantly to see how she will react. They catch her grinning briefly at the guards, before she drops to the ground with one leg extended and spins, tripping three of the guards and sending them clattering to the ground. She rises swiftly, and with a well-placed fist to the solar plexus and knee to the groin area topples the fourth guard, spinning and ducking to avoid a shaky punch from the fifth and catching him in the jaw with a powerful right hook. Her movements are graceful, almost feline in nature, and she makes similarly short work of the sixth guard.

Eliot watches her, his face lighting up in recognition as he murmurs, “I only know one person who can fight like that.” Before he can give the team a chance to question him, he leaps to his feet and sprints out of the van and across the road, wrenching open the back door of the gallery and eventually coming to a stop just behind the mystery thief. He furrows his eyebrows at her back. “Becca?”

Startled by the sound of her name, she spins, arm outstretched and looking to connect with flesh. Eliot is just as fast as she is, though, and catches her fist with one hand, grinning at her as he does so. Her eyes widen almost comically at the sight of the hitter. “Eliot?” Her expression of surprise soon fades into anger as she lashes out again. This time Eliot isn’t quite quick enough and she catches him across the cheek with a loud slap that echoes through the whole gallery. Watching the proceedings on the monitor from the van, the team all wince sympathetically and Hardison tries not to laugh.

Apparently still not satisfied, Becca goes for another slap. This time Eliot is prepared, and stops her hand from connecting with his left cheek before spinning them around and pinning her to a wall. She quirks a smile at the gesture, one which the hitter matches before huffing out a quiet “I missed you” and covering her mouth with his own.

Nate, Sophie and Hardison all watch the pair kiss with amazement and shock, none of them knowing quite where to look. Parker sits next to them and plays with her hair, a bored expression on her face. Finally she looks up with a slight frown.

“I’m still better at getting through laser grids than her.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked chapter 1, and will like chapter 2. I'm super duper nervous about writing this because I'm scared I won't do the characters justice, so I hope it's vaguely acceptable.

A flicker of movement from the left hand monitor startles Hardison from his stupor. He nudges Nate and points to the screen as they watch Jason Meadows pull up in front of the gallery, obviously having heard about the alarms going off. He’s accompanied, the hacker and the mastermind notice with a touch of alarm, by the police. Nate coughs once. “Right, Hardison, get Eliot out of...” He coughs again as they watch the hitter and his friend in the gallery. “Get him out of there.”

They’re not on comms, they didn’t need to be for routine surveillance as they were all in the van together, so Hardison hacks the gallery’s PA system and proclaims in a loud (and slightly disturbed) voice: “Uh, Eliot, I hate to break up your little party down there, but Meadows has just turned up with about twenty-five cops trailing him. You and your... associate should probably get the hell out of there.”

Eliot startles at the sound, pulling away from Becca with a disappointed expression on his face. He looks up at the security camera, nods once, and grabs the female criminal by the wrist. She pauses for a second at the contact, before rotating her hand in his strong grip and clasping his wrist in return. Together, they sprint out of the back entrance of the gallery and are outside and rushing towards the van just as Meadows and his support team of policemen get into the room where the Monet is being exhibited. The gallery owner looks around in bewilderment, before shrugging his shoulders and dismissing the disgruntled cops with a wave of his hand and an apologetic look.

“That was close.” Hardison sighs and huffs out a relieved breath, swivelling in his chair when the team hear the back doors of Lucille being pulled open, revealing Eliot and his mysterious Becca. Both are slightly flushed and are grinning, still holding onto each other’s wrists. Eliot looks at her, then at his team. “Everyone, this is-”

“Rebecca Gilbert.” Hardison, Parker and Sophie finish Eliot’s sentence, all looking at the newcomer with something akin to awe and respect. Nate leans back with a bewildered look.

A smirk creeps onto Becca’s face, and she releases Eliot’s wrist, stepping confidently into the van. “Alec Hardison, Parker, and Sophie Devereaux. I thought you might have heard of me.”

“ _Might_?” Hardison is flabbergasted. “Of course we’ve heard of you, woman. You’re a legend. The Vermeer in Amsterdam in 1997, the Bellagio in 1999, the Louvre in 2000...” He lists her hits with a wave of his hand. “And so on, and so forth.”

Nate is still confused. “The Vermeer in 1997? But that was stolen by-”

“Marie Duval?” Becca finishes for him. “Yeah, that was me.” She turns to him with a curious look. “Nathan Ford, right? Used to work for IYS. You were the insurance investigator for that Vermeer.” Her smirk widens. “D’you ever find it?”

Nate grits his teeth. “No.”

Becca pouts. “Aw, pity.” With the grace and fluidity of a panther, she sits down on one of the chairs in the van. Eliot, who has been watching his team’s exchange with a smile, shuts the door of Lucille and sits down next to her. Becca tosses a half-smile his way and leans forward, fixing Nate with an inquisitive look. “So this is the team I’ve heard so much about.”  A giggle bursts forth from her lips and she wrinkles her nose. “How cute.”

Parker looks horrified at the idea of anyone calling her cute, and seems to be about to say something unpleasant when Sophie cuts over her. “So how do you and Eliot know each other?”

Both Becca and Eliot tense up slightly at the question, and glance at each other warily. “I know her from uh... before.” Eliot answers. “Before you guys. We used to work together to uh... retrieve stuff.” Hardison like he’s going to ask a question so Eliot fixes him with a stern look. “And that’s all you need to know.”

The hacker looks suspicious but decides to drop the subject. “Ok then, let’s get out of here.” He nods towards Becca, and then looks at Eliot. “She staying?”

“Yeah, she can stay.”

\---

“So this is your HQ, above a bar in Nathan Ford’s apartment.” Becca laughs again. “Cute.”

“Would you stop calling everything about us cute?” Parker is indignant. “We’re the best criminals in the US, possibly in the world. It’s insulting.”

Becca pivots on her heels, brown hair swinging as she does so, turning to face the team. “Sorry, I’ll try not to wound your pride any further.”

The bright lights of Nate’s apartment give the team their first proper chance to really get a look at the newcomer. She’s about half a head shorter than Eliot, but she carries herself as if she were the tallest in the room. Long, wavy brown locks frame an almost perfectly symmetrical oval face, with alert emerald eyes that observe everything that goes on around them. Her lips are full, ruby red under her lipstick, and her legs are long and muscular. In short, she’s stunning.

“You’re really hot,” Parker blurts. The rest of her team swivel their heads to look at her quizzically, Eliot’s gaze holding just a touch of possessiveness. Parker turns to them with a shrug. “What? You were all thinking it, I just said it.”

Eliot shakes his head. “There’s somethin’ wrong with you, Parker.”

The corner of Becca’s mouth quirks up. “Thank you, Parker. You’re not so bad yourself.”

The thief grins broadly at that. “I like her, she can stay.”

“Can I talk to Eliot for a while, privately?” Becca asks, looking at the hitter with an unreadable expression.

He nods. “Sure, c’mon, we can talk downstairs.” Pulling the door open, he waits for her to follow him out before turning to his team finger outstretched in warning. “And no eavesdropping. I mean it, Hardison.” The hacker begins to protest but his complaints are unheard as Eliot leaves. The door shuts behind him with a bang.

“Well that was... interesting.” Nate intones after the pair have left.

\---

“So where’ve you been?” Eliot slides a glass over to Becca, grabbing one for himself and taking a bottle of whisky off the shelf.  He pours both glasses slowly and methodically, not quite meeting Becca’s eyes. “Last time I saw you was six years ago.”

“The Peterson hit, yeah, I remember.” She accepts the whisky from him and smiles, but there’s no humour in it. “We got set up by his men in that warehouse. They planted a bomb, we realised it too late, and got caught in the blast. When I woke up, you weren’t there.”

The last part is accompanied by an accusing glare in Eliot’s direction, and the hitter throws up his hands and shrugs. “What did you want me to do, Becca? When I came to, you were still out cold. Peterson’s guys grabbed me and took me out of there. There was nothing I could do.”

“You could have come back!”

“I did.”

Becca sets her glass down, looking confused. “What?”

Eliot’s gaze drops to the floor, and he scuffs at the edge of the bar with his boot. “I did come back, but you’d already gone by then.”

A scoff bursts forth from Becca’s lips. “And you didn’t think to look for me?”

“Of course I did, Becca! Of course I freakin’ looked for you! I looked everywhere. Every place we’d ever been together, every location of every job we’d ever done. I travelled across the whole damn globe, hopin’ that maybe, just maybe, I’d get lucky. That you’d be at the next place I went looking for you. But you weren’t. You were never there. Never.” He tosses back his glass of whisky, voice rough and eyes sad, and pours himself another. “So, I stopped. I stopped looking, I stopped trying. I stopped. I figured if you really wanted to, you’d have found me already.”

Becca’s eyes are misty, and she wipes at one of them. “I looked for you too, you know. But then there was an incident in Egypt and I-”

Eliot cuts her off, his face a picture of concern. “An incident? Egypt? What happened, you okay?”

She waves him off. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I was hanging around Cairo, decided to hit the museum of antiquities while I was there, you know, out of boredom. Turns out, Egyptian climbing equipment isn’t as good as they make it out to be. My rope snapped, I fell, broke my ankle and my arm, and got caught. I waited a year in prison until I was healed before I conned my way out of prison, but then I figured I should lay low for a while; let the heat die down, until the Egyptians forgot about me.” She shrugs airily, but then her expression turns serious. “I tried to find you too, you know. I did try.”

Eliot heaves a sigh, leaning over the bar and catching her wrist in his hand. Almost automatically, she returns the gesture. The stay like that for a while, linked at the wrist, the only sounds around them their breath and the quiet hum of the lights behind the bar. Finally, Becca clears her throat and stands. “I should probably go.”

“Right, of course.” Eliot straightens up, picking up the whisky bottle and putting it back on its shelf. He turns around to face her. “You could stay, you know.”

She smiles softly and touches her hand to his cheek. “No, I couldn’t. You have a team, and you all know each other, and you work together, and I’d be intruding. And besides, I work alone.”

He gives a sad smile in response, picking up their glasses and putting them in the sink, beginning to wash them. “I know. But so did I.”

By the time he looks up, she’s gone.

\---

The team all eye him curiously as he returns to Nate’s apartment alone. He can sense the questions on the tips of their tongues, but they take one look at him and know better than to ask. He’s grateful for that, although he isn’t the best at showing it. Emotions make you weak, he’d once been told. Keep them to yourself.

 Sophie shuffles to make room for him on the sofa. Hardison has his monitors on and is standing, pointer at the ready, preparing to brief them on their next job. Eliot wonders how long they’d waited for him like this. The hacker looks at him, blinks once and asks, “She gone?”

Eliot nods. “Yeah.”

“You okay?”

“No.”

Hardison makes a decisive motion with his hand. “Okay then, on to our next job. This is Jim Carrity, of Carrity diamonds...”

He goes on and on, telling them about their next mark, pulling up his financials, pictures of his business, and the armoured car containing his diamonds that was robbed. Eliot isn’t listening, not really, he’s thinking about the girl who just blustered into his life after six years of him searching for her and disappeared just as spectacularly and as suddenly as she had arrived. He glances up to see Hardison looking at him, a message in his eyes. _If you need to talk to me, I’ll listen._

_Thank you_ , Eliot sends back, eyes fixed on the hacker’s as he tries to convey what he could never say in words. The corners of his mouth pull up a little. He knows his team has got his back.

It’s days later, when yet another con is successfully over, that his phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out with a frown, and sees a text from a number he doesn’t recognise. He opens it and nearly drops the device through joy when he reads the message displayed on the screen.

_I’ll be back._

_-B_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun duuuuun! She will be back, like the Terminator :) Also Eliot is my absolute favourite and I love him so so so much and did I mention he's my favourite?

**Author's Note:**

> Eliot is my favourite character and with Nate/Sophie and Parker/Hardison all being canon that he was kinda like an awkward third wheel and that made me sad. So then this happened. Will continue this if there's enough demand, it was kinda a random thing that I wrote on a whim, so let me know if it's worth continuing or not.
> 
> Also the fact that this amazing show got cancelled is the saddest thing ever. I wept through the whole finale (which was utterly brilliant).


End file.
